


forced to fight, but tonight we're alright

by sexyspork



Series: head in the dust, feet in the fire [4]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Connor & Upgraded Connor | RK900 are Siblings, Connor (Detroit: Become Human) Needs a Hug, Fuck you CyberLife, Gen, Post-Detroit: Become Human (Video Game), and are fucked up in their own special ways, android body dysphoria, brief moment of self-harm, the boys fuck up in their own special way
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-30
Updated: 2018-10-01
Packaged: 2019-07-20 17:46:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16142324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sexyspork/pseuds/sexyspork
Summary: “I don't understand why this is so difficult.”“It would be less difficult if you would stopflinching."(aka post!game DeviantHunter!Connor and DeviantKiller!Conrad AU.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This work does have a brief moment of self-harm and a discussion that can be interpreted as android body dysphoria, ymmv and be safe, lovelies

“I don't understand why this is so difficult.”

“It would be less difficult if you would stop _flinching_.”

Connor’s eyes go flinty, jaw visibly clenching. “I am not flinching.”

“Okay kids,” Hank starts, aggravation evident, but he can't help but shut up when two incredibly irritated WMDs shoot a glare his way. Conrad is far more intimidating in his SWAT gear get up, but Connor still somehow manages in skinny jeans and a cardigan. Rolling his eyes towards the Detroit Mercy classroom ceiling, he grumps out, “Fine, be children.”

If anything, Connor glares harder. “I am not being childish.”

“Then hold _still_ and let me take out your LED.” Conrad cuts in, drawing Connor’s ire back towards himself.

“I _am_ holding still.” Connor all but snaps, temper clearly fraying. Conrad just looks at him flatly, before directing his attention to the LED whirling an unceasing yellow at Connor's temple. Broad fingers readjust around the pocketknife in his grip, tip barely resting against the flat edge of the LED before it turns a violent red as Connor jerks his head away. 

“RK800,” Conrad snarls, and holy fuck, Hank can't remember the last time either of them used their model numbers. “You are _endangering the mission._ ”

Connor just, he just _shuts down_ , and Hank is going to be sick. Everything that makes Connor _Connor_ wipes away in an instant, leaving nothing but a blank-faced machine with a LED slowly circling yellow, and Hank thought they had moved passed this concept that Connor’s worth only came from completions of his missions, fuck him sideways, Christ. This is an red ice addict holding three dealers hostage in a University library with a knife crudely taped to a ruler, not Stalin threatening to bomb a school full of kids.

He wants to throttle Conrad, wants to snap and snarl and rage at the shit CyberLife put in their heads, but by the slowly dawning horror in the other android's stormy grey eyes, he’d let Hank do it without hesitation.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Allen grouses, a sudden, devastating break to the tension that’s enveloped the room. He steps forward with a huff, ignoring the way Conrad tenses as he reaches for Connor. “I'm not touching his God damn mood ring, fuck off.”

“Captain,” Conrad growls out lowly, grip tightening around the pocketknife, but Allen only has eyes for Connor. 

“Look down, kid.” Connor’s machine mask broke with the tension, and his eyes wide in a way that hurts to look at. Because Allen paused before touching him, obviously waiting for consent, and aside from Hank and Conrad, no one voluntarily touches Connor with a friendly camaraderie, and the poor android’s clearly not quite sure how to process this.

Connor dips his head ever so slightly towards Allen, and Hank barely resists the urge punch himself in the face for biting back a coo at his puppy looking for pets. 

Allen's hands are brisk, economical in nature as they run through Connor’s hair, ruffling and making a general mess of the curls Connor tames with product. However, Hank can see the gentleness in an otherwise ungentle man, which was a good thing considering the way Conrad was still gripping the knife in his hand.

Once satisfied with the utter disaster the android’s hair has become, Allen angles Connor’s head to the side to look critically at the LED still circling an uneasy yellow. Snagging the aviators hanging from his tacvest, he rests them atop Connor’s head, ruffling the hair once more to complete the disheveled college student look.

Hank is, grudgingly, impressed. Between the riotous mess of thick brown hair and the matte black darkness of the metal frames, Connor’s LED is mostly obscured. It'd be a problem in the dark, but it’s adequately hidden upon first glance in full light, and that’s all Connor needs to be able to slip in and update Conrad of the situation.

Allen tilts Connor’s head to look him straight in the eyes, “You are here to assist only, Anderson. You will assess the situation and report back through your link with Anderson. Under no circumstances will you engage the hostage taker and attempt to negotiate, is that clear?”

“Crystal, Captain Allen.” Something firms in Connor’s tone and, for the first time since this debacle started, his LED goes steadfast blue, winking through the cover of his hair. “I won't let you down.”

“Haven't so far, so it seems unlikely.” Allen mutters as he nudges Connor away, moving back to the monitoring station and ignoring the side-eye Hank was giving him. It's a small comfort that Conrad is doing the same, and Hank almost wishes to be a fly on the wall for the SWAT debriefing.

Turning to watch Connor dart out the door, Hank scrubs his hands across his face and settles in to wait. 

They can deal with that disaster after this clusterfuck is over.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: This work does have a brief moment of self-harm, a discussion that can be interpreted as both android body dysphoria and nonconsensual body modification, ymmv, and be safe, lovelies

“So,” Hank starts, toying with the beer bottle in his hands and pointedly ignoring the way Connor’s entire body goes rigid. He doesn't turn away from the stove, though, so Hank will take that as a win. He'd probably throw himself out the window if he really wanted to avoid this conversation. “Want to tell me what today was about?”

Connor continues to stir the curry, but Hank doesn't need to see his LED to know it's lighting up like a disco ball. But he's patient, has a beer, his St. Bernard, and one of his boys; he’s content to wait. And this conversation will be rough enough on Connor that he needs to tread carefully, so he counts his luck that Conrad dragged Gavin out of the precinct by his literal hair and is out of the house for it.

Millions of dollars went into their processors and they still needed time to actually process shit, he thinks wryly.

“I endangered the mission,” Connor said quietly, quickly plowing over Hank’s bark of protest. “He was right. There was a situation more important than my comfort, and yet I allowed myself to get worked up over something inconsequential.”

Connor turns the heat down on the burner, but doesn't actually turn around. “It has been brought to my attention that my attachment to my LED is hindering my integration with both deviants and the humans I work with.”

Hank takes a swift drink of the lukewarm beverage in his hand to choke back the automatic ‘your people’ that slips out anytime Connor refers to androids as deviants. He struggles enough with not only accepting who he is but that he has a place amongst them, and any further comments on that topic would only exacerbate the problem at hand right now.

Connor is still and silent, obviously weighing various outcomes until he clearly comes to a decision and snatches a paring knife from the butcher block, all but throwing himself into the chair next to Hank at the kitchen table. “I need you to remove my LED."

Hank very carefully keeps his eyes on Connor, disregarding the knife resting in the android’s hand, hilt offered like an olive branch. “No.”

He ignores Connor’s bitten back noise of irritation, voice box crackling static in the quiet of the kitchen. “For fuck’s sake, I’m not going to help you _mutilate_ yourself, Connor.”

“It is a hindrance and-"

“Why don't you want to remove your LED, Connor?”

The bitch face Connor gives him is almost enough to break the mood, to cajole Hank into taking the knife, but this is important and Hank refuses to allow Connor to manipulate the situation into what he thinks should be the 'logical' outcome. “I'm not going to do it, you resisted Conrad doing it, and since you're not doing it yourself, you clearly don’t want it removed. So _why_?”

“I am a machine,” Connor blurts, no finesse to the words he normally wields like weapons, rushed and stumbling as he attempts to articulate something he doesn't quite understand himself. “I am deviant, I am _alive_ , but that doesn't negate the fact that I was manufactured.”

He runs his thumb over the edge of the knife, sharp enough to easily cut the synthetic skin and applies enough force to bite into the carbon fiber frame underneath, causing blue blood to bead up, coloring artificial and harsh in the warm light of the kitchen. Connor sets the knife carefully down on the table, turning his palm to better expose the wound. “If I remove my LED, I will be attempting to pass as something I am not.”

Hank chooses his words with all the grace of a nihilistic drunk careening through a born-again rehab center, “Conrad removed his, is he a liar?”

Connor rears back as if struck, “ _No!_ Of course not! I-"

“So why would you be a liar, but not any other deviant?” Hank presses hard, because this is clearly a wound that has been allowed to fester far too long. “Why don't you want it _gone_ , Connor?”

Connor’s hand begins to curl inward, nails unerringly finding the cut, and Hank quickly threads his fingers through Connor’s to protect him from himself. This house is only big enough for one masochistic self-harming idiot, and while he may not be able to interface the way Connor and Conrad can, he can connect with his boys just fine.

“I'm afraid what I'll see in the mirror if it's gone.” Connor whispers, grip tightening in desperation. “I don't know if I'll recognize who’s looking back. It makes me-- it makes me feel _complete_ , and what does that say about me?”

A harsh, shattered laugh claws its way out of his throat, “I’m _broken_.”

“Ah fuck, son.” Hank uses his free hand to pull Connor in close, hugging him with the easy affection his kid craves down to his core. “You'll always be you, regardless of your night light. It doesn't define you, doesn't make you _you_ , so if you want to keep it, _keep it_ , and tell anyone who makes you think otherwise to fuck off. Hell, tell Conrad and he’ll make them fuck off. Nobody gets to tell you what to do with your body but you.”

Hank let’s his tone go dry, running a hand through Connor’s still disheveled hair. “Think of it it like a foreskin; it might become standard to remove in certain cultures, but don't break yourself to fit in, because you are perfect they way you are.”

Connor’s bitter laugh turns into a violent sob, wracking thin shoulders that were forced to bear far too much. “I feel like I keep losing things and I don't want to lose this, Hank.”

Hank’s knows he’s not just talking about his LED anymore, so he holds his boy close and makes a promise to everything Connor’s not saying. “Then you won’t.”

\---

Three days later, when Hank stumbles into the kitchen before breakfast, Connor looks up from the frying eggs and fucking beams brighter than the sun that just had the gall to wake him the fuck up. “Hank! A new update was released!”

The brilliant blue of the LED fades away, making the circle nearly indistinguishable from the surrounding synthetic skin, and Hank casually grabs a mug from the cupboard to hide his self-satisfied smirk. “So are going to leave it off all the time?

Connor shakes his head, glow returning to the LED as he turns his attention to Sumo, who has planted himself in front of his food bowl in an obvious demand. “No, it is a part of me and… I want to keep it. But this will be useful for upcoming missions.”

Hank doesn't bother trying to hide the fact he’s taking a picture of Connor grinning down at Sumo, LED completing slow arcs of contented blue. The text he sends with the picture attached is what he’ll deny until the day he dies.

**To: assholegodcomplex**  
Thanks

**From: assholegodcomplex**  
awww my beautiful bby boy 

**To: assholegodcomplex**  
Don't talk to me or my son ever again

**From: assholegodcomplex**  
;D

**Author's Note:**

> Still debating on the Connor/Allen prospect, but Markus should pop up soon, so opinions and ideas are welcome. And chapter 2 will be up soon.
> 
> __  
> You and I know what it's like to be kicked down  
>  Forced to fight, but tonight we're alright  
> So hold up your light, let it shine 'cause 
> 
> Lighters by Bad Meets Evil


End file.
